


But Not Tonight

by CaptainSlow



Series: Coming Back To You Universe [12]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: M/M, hugging galore and no porn oh my, too many hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25190188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainSlow/pseuds/CaptainSlow
Summary: "Was wondering what it'd be like if it were always like this," Paul finally says, shifting the position of his head on Richard's shoulder. Still, all he can see is his lover's lightly stubbled chin and his lips."Like this?" Richard echoes, exhaling the final cloud of smoke, and stubs the cigarette in the ashtray perched on the bannister.
Relationships: Richard Kruspe/Paul Landers
Series: Coming Back To You Universe [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1785925
Comments: 14
Kudos: 43





	But Not Tonight

_Oh God, it's raining_  
_But I'm not complaining_  
_It's filling me up_  
_With new life_

_The stars in the sky_  
_Bring tears to my eyes_  
_They're lighting my way_  
_Tonight_

_And I haven't felt so alive_  
_In years.*©_

Paul simply looks at him, not quite listening to anything Richard's chattering about but watching him speak instead; noticing how his lips move and how the corner of his mouth occasionally lifts in half a smirk; he looks at him, his every feature so familiar that mere observing it already feels like being home, especially now that grimaces of anger or pain are so rare on Richard's face; Paul looks at him, almost in a kind of awe, suddenly barely able to deal with a surge of affection which is huge and raw, seemingly coming out of the blue. Or maybe he's not honest enough with himself and this feeling isn't coming out of nowhere – it has been there in the very heart of him right from day one, ever since the moment they met, ever since the moment Paul realised he wanted Richard, ever since the first sloppy kiss which smelled of weed and the first time Richard wrapped him into his arms, which since then have become as vital for Paul as the very air he breathes.

Looking at Richard now, hair carelessly brushed off his brow, dressed in his hideous stretched pants and a washed-out, almost shapeless, t-shirt; watching him rather than listening to his animated account of what he's come up with for the New Year Mexico gigs, Paul knows he loves the man with all his heart, couldn't possibly love him more than he does now. It's so terrifyingly obvious, this feeling, so profound and somehow awfully fragile at the same time that it makes him wonder how something so crucial can simultaneously be so simple. He was an idiot to refuse to acknowledge it for all those long years that stretched between their first night spent together and his unfortunate accident with way too much party favours during their US tour in 1999, which ended up with him being prickled with needles by paramedics and with Richard's agitated love confession muffled against his sweat- and tears-coated flushed cheeks.

He was twice as much of an idiot to refuse to acknowledge it later, when their several-year long open confrontation finally ended with a precarious truce; thankfully, without casualties, save, perhaps, for their wounded egos and a whole army of damaged nervous cells on both sides. Paul understands that he had his reasons for purposefully trying to nip in the bud all Richard's attempts to raise the topic of love and that there perhaps was no other way around it, old scars too deep and wounds too aching to just dismiss them, but it was still pointless because, even then, hell, even while they were on the verge of tearing each other's throats at the worst of times, he still loved him. Maybe that was why it hurt so bad in the first place.

So, presently, Paul just keeps staring at the love of his life – tritely sentimental to refer to this dishevelled control freak in this fashion, but thirty years of being together in all possible ways tend to do this to a person – suddenly terrified by the inexorable passage of time. It's not even the getting older thing, even though that, too, provokes certain fears. Mainly, it's the clear realisation of the fact that days turn into months merging into years, and if they keep on living sticking to this old scheme, meeting sporadically, sharing each other with wives or girlfriends or occasional sexual partners, one day they will simply grow too old for something which has all of a sudden started to seem to Paul extremely important, almost indispensable. Because, ironically, even despite the thirty-year-long affair they have had, they have never _really_ been together in the most straightforward sense of the word. And it is only recently that Paul has begun to realise that this is the only thing he craves now that he seemingly has it all.

Having reached the heights of his career and having raised two kids – raised them properly, too, he's done his damn best to make sure he did the right thing – he finally understands that there is one person, perhaps the most essential person, in the midst of all this chaos that he has been unfair towards for years on end, hurting him both on purpose and unheedingly. Remembering the time when he couldn't stand hearing Richard speak words of love, let alone say them himself, makes Paul wince and inwardly cringe and want to kick himself for it, but he also knows that this was the only possible way for him to get where he is now, to love Richard the way he loves him now. And the most surprising thing is that, even despite Paul being his obstinate bastardly self, Richard still stuck around, bearing with him and his persistent reluctance to acknowledge and admit that he did love him, too; stuck with him through all those long years that they spent dancing ever so cautiously around each other so as not to accidentally fuck something up again; stuck with him even when he knew Paul was wrong, somehow finding it in himself to forgive and accept and still love him. And look where it has led them, to something Paul considers to be the most precious bond in his life. And he wants that bond to only grow stronger, hoping that he has chosen the right way to do it. 

The thing is, he loved Richard long before any words of love were voiced by either of them. Looking at him now, greying stubble on his chin and a spiderweb of crowfeet wrinkles around his eyes, Paul feels like they wasted so much precious time, time they could have spent in better ways than they did. He does understand that hadn't it been for all the hurdles they had to jump and all the troubles they had to overcome together, he wouldn't be feeling what he is feeling now, this profoundly gratifying emotion, or that they might not be here together at all. All the same, he can't help wishing that their relationship had somehow been smoother before, or that the two of them had been wiser. It's pointless, of course, they can't change the past and the only thing they can do to amend for all the time lost is perhaps be wise now.

It scares the hell out of Paul, though, even despite the three decades they have been together, he would be a hypocrite to deny that. It's not only concern about their relationship becoming known to public and their families and friends, at least those of them who still haven't figured them out yet. What terrifies him most of all is the fear that they will blow it out of the water again should they make another attempt at turning what they have into a proper, conventional, relationship. Paul understands it doesn't work this way, that some silly premonitions and superstitions do not materialise into life like that; that it's people, not bad omens, which make things go wrong; he knows they are more experienced now, he knows he loves Richard enough to make a commitment, hell, Richard is the only person he has continuously loved for thirty odd years, but old fears, just like old habits, seem to die hard.

But then Paul remembers other times, too, the severity of the pain he had to go through while they weren't together, the uncertainty about their future and the prospects of never seeing Richard again, all those times when they weren't there for each other and just how profoundly it hurt, and he knows he is willing to venture a lot to prevent anything like that from taking place ever again.

He felt it for the first time when Richard made his infamous run for freedom to the West, disappearing out of Paul's life without a single word as if he were dead, and at some points in time no one was certain he wasn't. The intensity of the prolonged gloomy mood he fell victim to and the subsequent misery Richard's absence caused baffled Paul even more than his desire for Richard in the first place, the emotion so acute as if somebody was twisting a knife right through the middle of him. Thoughts of Richard, his hands on him, his arms around him, his lips on his, dick in his ass or in his mouth, the somewhat confused smiles he occasionally gave Paul, the way they seemed to find mutual understanding as quickly as they could lose it, all of it haunting him for months on end until Richard reappeared in his life as suddenly as he had vanished from it. He didn't _want_ to understand what he was feeling back then, let alone why he was feeling it, the emotion way too big and too terrifying to acknowledge it, too humiliating for him to admit that he was heartbroken and lovelorn, but thirty years later and with much more experience on his hands, Paul knows he had fallen hard for Richard, so hard that, even now when they are both over fifty, he still sometimes looks at the man like a lovestruck idiot, simply unable to wipe longing off his face.

Paul absolutely abhorred the ceaseless feeling of loneliness caused by Richard's absence on more occasions than he would care to admit, and he doesn't want to go through anything like that ever again. It was like that when they kept falling out with each other for several long years at the beginning of the 2000s, a protracted torture that nearly sucked the life itself out of him, despite his having an actual loving family to run to and seek refuge in. The pain was worse then than after Richard's flight from the East Berlin, so many feelings entangled into a huge tight knot neither of them was able to undo for years afterwards. Living without Richard, needing him desperately and wanting to have him in his life but unable to swallow back the pain and resentfulness and hatred, killing himself and their relationship slowly, smothering the precious thing they had shared from the very beginning, letting it whither and wilt, throttling it with their own hands just because both of them were stuck too far up their own asses and wishing to wallow in self-pity way too much to admit and apologise for their own mistakes.

The pain was there, ridiculous as it felt to him at that time, when he first noticed Richard sneaking away with random guys every once in a while back when they were touring the States in the nineties. They had never agreed on being faithful to each other because there was no call for it – there was no relationship to talk about fidelity so they weren't real partners to actually cheat on each other. Yet, there it was, the nagging, surprisingly strong feeling of jealousy, making him sick to his stomach from the mere thought of other men's hands on Richard; making him loathe the thought of their lips kissing his, the thought that he allowed them into his personal space, the thought that he enjoyed those encounters, the thought that some stranger was allowed to hear the sound Richard made when he came and the hushed, choked, delirious murmur as he asked for more. Paul wondered if he called them by their names when he was reaching his climax, just like he did with him, wondered if he knew their names at all. He wondered if that odd tenderness that had successfully sealed his fate in relation to Richard was present while he fucked – or allowed himself to be fucked by – those other guys.

The emotion was ridiculous, so he never said a word to Richard – not until other words were spoken by them later – but he hated it with passion, and he hated those nameless men, too, and Richard for his willingness to be with them. It didn't happen frequently; at least, Paul personally didn't see him do it on a regular basis, and they still shared the bed on and off tours, sometimes regularly, sometimes not so, and sex with him was just as satisfying, but it somehow managed to stab Paul and his pride every time he saw Richard do it again, making him wonder if he wasn't good enough, making him wonder what things those men did to him to make him seek those one-night stands again and again instead of coming to him. He didn't want to understand it for a long time, but eventually he had no other choice but to make himself understand because seeing Richard run away evoked feelings, too, those he had purposefully preferred to ignore for years and those which stubbornly kept hurting him when imagining other men in Richard's arms.

The two of them started the entire affair as a joke, a way to have fun and try something new, and ended up way too far in territories which were utterly unknown and thus scary to explore, but by the moment they understood it, they had long passed the point of no return. Paul doesn't like to remember those times, even now, years later when their relationship has transformed into something neither of them could have possibly fathomed, leaving them faithful to one another for years on end. For god's sake, he's never been as faithful to his legitimate wife as he's been to Richard. Even though Paul refused to accept it for years, love was something holding them together despite their insufferable personalities and all the obstacles they have faced.

He knows it now, though, that he loves Richard, but that's not what makes him take perhaps the most difficult decision in his life. He's loved Richard for years, hell, for decades now, there's no mystery or surprise about it anymore. What is different now is that he's finally brave enough or wise enough or maybe simply mad enough to accept it at last. He doesn't want any heartache, despair and desire entangled into a sickening knot, he's had enough drama over the past thirty odd years, thank you very much. Besides, they aren't getting younger as years pass, and, frighteningly, they seem to be doing it faster and faster, which makes Paul finally start to consider his true priorities.

He's been thinking about it more or less seriously for months now, just trifling with the idea over the past several years, ever since Richard made his way back to Berlin, back home. Not to Paul, though, not the way Paul was finding himself wanting Richard to be back. That was something which ignited all this pondering on priorities and time slipping through fingers. He was reluctant at first as he wasn't particularly keen on philosophising on his and Richard's turbulent relationship but unable to help it, ending up spending long sleepless nights in his bed, next to his peacefully sleeping wife, contemplating what he really wanted from his life and who he wanted to share it with. Against his will, he started wondering what it would be like to fall asleep and wake up with Richard on a daily basis, at the same time telling himself he was being ridiculous and that the only outcome it could possibly lead to was another major meltdown; that it was way safer to live like this, separately, remaining friends to almost everyone around, lovers only to the limited few who knew, meeting every once in a while like all male friends did, with the only difference that the activities they engaged in were of another nature. Still, there he was wondering and then fantasising about just what extent of terrible it would be like to have to see this familiar face and all that came with it every single day of his life, or if it would be terrible at all. Or if, maybe, it would be the most wonderful thing which could possibly happen to them.

That's what Paul is musing about now, watching Richard as he chatters the evening away, the bleak Berlin weather violently throwing bunches of raindrops against the windowpane. They are stationed in the kitchen, with coffees in hands, and Paul can't get rid of the nagging voice in his head asking him what it would be like if this was how they lived their lives. What would they be doing now were they living together, as a proper couple should? Would they still be here lounging and sharing latest news and making plans for the upcoming tour, or would Paul be stuck in bed with a book in hand while Richard was obsessing over his new record in the studio, a manic control freak incarnate, freaking out everyone else around him along the way?

"What's up?" Richard's voice interrupts the runaway train of Paul's thought, bringing him back to the cosily lit kitchen and making Paul realise with a pang of conscience that he has missed what Richard has been on about over the past ten or fifteen minutes or so altogether.

"What?" Paul blinks back at him, chin resting on the heel of his hand.

"You look funny. Am I saying something you--"

"Nah, go on. Just looking," Paul smirks and nods his head urging Richard to keep on talking. Maybe it's still not too late to catch up with whatever he's been narrating in such an animated manner.  
  
Richard gives him a slightly puzzled and a tad suspicious glance but goes on as was bid. Paul, in turn, continues to look at him. Thinking hard. Knowing in his heart that he's already made up his mind but still needing to come to terms with what he is about to propose to Richard.

It's only a couple of hours later, when the lousy weather has finally given in and the rain has subsided, leaving only chilly dampness after itself, that Paul steps out onto the roof terrace to join Richard. He is huddling into his own sweater and then into Richard's hoodie too, for good measure, missing the summer heat terribly. As far as he's concerned, Mexico with its fine sand beaches and balmy climate couldn't come soon enough. That is, if what he is about to tell Richard doesn't cause a quarrel of catastrophic proportions. He knows it's not likely, not anymore, but even a miniscule chance of it arising makes Paul a bit too stressed-out for his liking.

That aching heaviness in his chest and the nervous knot in his stomach are still present, the former caused by the sheer intensity of the desire to be with Richard at all times, the latter by apprehension of how Richard might react to his suggestion. He stops by his partner's side, one elbow propped onto the bannister, his other arm weaving loosely around his warm middle, the familiar stoutness of it making Paul smile. It's always been nice to hold on to him, regardless of his shape. For a fleeting moment, he allows his mind to wander off and be curious as to what Richard feels when he holds him – there has never been much of Paul to hold on to, after all. Richard's never seemed to mind his natural gauntness, though, so whatever it feels like must suit him just fine.   
  
"What were you daydreaming about, back then, huh?" Richard asks, half-turning to face Paul and letting out a cloud of smoke into the humid stillness of the night.

His voice is even and contented, but it is evident that he must have found Paul's earlier behaviour a bit odd. Paul feels a somewhat uneasy smile stretch his lips as he takes half a step closer and lets his cheek rest against the curve of Richard's jacket-clad shoulder. What he is really trying to achieve by this closeness is support, to glean some strength from the solid presence that Richard is against him to be able to say what he needs to say. He breathes in, slowly, relishing the damp freshness of the night air mixed with Richard's familiar scent. Breathes out. Tightens the hold of his hand on Richard's side briefly before smoothening his fingers over the fabric of his clothes again.  
  
"Was thinking that I love you," he answers earnestly.

He hears Richard huff good-naturedly right above his ear and then feels a firm press of his lips on the top of his head, just a little gesture of affection completely devoid of any sexual implication. Then again, it has been years since the last time this affair was only about sex for either of them, if ever at all. The ache continues to pull at something in Paul's chest, relentless and somehow bittersweet. Hell yes, he does love him.

"And that's just that, huh?" Richard asks after a brief silence, a smile still perceptible in his voice.

"Isn't that enough for you anymore?" Paul teases, nudging Richard lightly with his hip.

"Along with Max's birth, that's the best thing that's happened to me over the past decade, you know it perfectly well," he murmurs. "Just thought you must have either some wicked or epic idea in this head of yours, or maybe both."

Well, of course he knows something's going on, they haven't been together for thirty years for nothing, after all. Judging by Richards tone of voice, though, he's not suspicious or worried by what is on Paul's mind, merely curious. Before answering, Paul takes in a deep breath again, stilling himself against a reaction which is bound to follow. All of a sudden, there is a stray thought in his head that he is immensely lucky they had their long therapeutic band-talks – one thing they taught him is to be able to speak out no matter how fucking hard or terrifying it seems. It is both of those now, but apart from that, there is so much love, too, and it is reassuring.

"Was wondering what it'd be like if it were always like this," Paul finally says, shifting the position of his head on Richard's shoulder. Still, all he can see is his lover's lightly stubbled chin and his lips.

"Like _this_?" Richard echoes, exhaling the final cloud of smoke, and stubs the cigarette in the ashtray perched on the bannister.

"Yeah," Paul agrees softly. "You think we could maybe tolerate each other enough to…" he falters uncertainly, suddenly infuriatingly speechless.

It is such an important thing he is about to ask of Richard, and he needs it to be expressed perfectly clearly yet here he is, not sure as to how to even start to shape it in words, this huge feeling he has. He feels Richard's body get just a little bit tenser in the hold of his arm as he must have finally realised that there is indeed more to this conversation than he initially presumed.

"Enough to do what?" he asks gently, making Paul marvel for an uncountable time at how unexpectedly patient Richard can actually be when he wishes to. This astounding tenderness in his tone was what made him change his mind those fifteen-odd years ago, something which saved their relationship, Rammstein and them both along the way.

When Paul fails to come up with an answer, Richard finally turns to face him, hands coming to rest on Paul's shoulders. The lights from the kitchen spill outside through the window, illuminating one side of his face and leaving the other bathed in shadows. 

"Hey? What's on your mind?" he asks, a mild smile still lingering there on his lips. It is compromised by a frown of concern on his brow, though, and, god, Paul just wants to smoothen it out so much. "I don't know what you're on about but I reckon that, by now, we could tolerate a lot of stuff. Still care to share or have you changed your mind, after all?"

Paul lets out a sigh and, before he's got enough time to formulate it more or less decently or indeed change his mind altogether, blurts out, "How about making it official?"

He looks Richard straight in the eye, able to see and interpret the emotions on his face well enough. He looks at him openly, not knowing what else he could add to what he has just proposed. There is a lot to add, granted, but that's only in case Richard is on the same page with him on what he has offered. And that is yet to be seen. So Paul bites his lower lip, unbeknownst to himself, and impatiently shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

" _Official_?" Richard asks meanwhile, raising his eyebrows and looking more than a little confused. "Official as in… what, like getting married? Is it some half-assed way of proposing to me, after the thirty-year-long relationship?" he goes on with a smirk, warm sparks dancing in his eyes, reflections of the yellowish glimpses of the kitchen lights.

Paul swallows, and then shrugs, huffing a bit awkwardly.

"Almost," he says softly, wondering what the hell he is talking about. He has never considered marriage, not even with the women who bore his children, let alone with Richard.

" _Almost_?" Richard echoes.

He seems to have a particularly lousy way with words tonight, or maybe it is Paul as it is him who can't formulate what he wants even from the third attempt.

"I've been thinking recently…" he sighs. "That neither of us is getting younger, and about setting priorities right and all that… Hell, I don't want to waste more time than we already have, Richard," he says softly and shakes his head, his hand reaching out to brush his thumb along Richards cheekbone, one illuminated by the kitchen lights. "So I was wondering if you think we have learnt to behave ourselves enough to… you know, to maybe turn what we have into a proper relationship. Being together, living together and all what comes with it. You and me. How about that?" he finally asks, not being particularly satisfied with his speech, but he supposes he will have to make do with that much.

"You aren't having me on, are you?" Richard says after a pause, sounding suspicious, his head cocked to one side.

"I couldn't be more serious," Paul replies earnestly. "I love you. I want to be with you, like normal people loving each other are supposed to."

He shrugs lightly, as if to say that he can't help either loving him or desiring some normal life for the two of them. Well, he can't be blamed for that much, can he?

"What about your family?" Richard asks, hands still resting on Paul's shoulders.

His thumbs have started a minute dance over the two layers of fabric he is clad in, tiny soothing circles, so Paul dares to let out a small sigh of relief.

" _You_ are my family, you bastard," he smirks at Richard, his smile growing wider still when he notices the corners of Richard's mouth twitch, too.

"What about mine?" he asks suddenly, taking Paul completely by surprise and making a leaden weight drop into his stomach so suddenly it almost feels like a punch.

Somehow, while planning this proposal, he totally neglected the fact of Richard's own relationship. Granted, there is not much relationship to speak of at the moment, no constant partner for all he knows anyway, just a flock of long-legged and full-breasted stunningly looking women taking residence in his bed every so often, but does that mean Richard doesn't have plans for the future with one of them? In his philosophising about life, Paul has completely overlooked the possibility of Richard being interested in someone long term, and, suddenly, along with the leaden weight in his stomach, there is an ache, too, a dagger of cold fear twisting inside his gut that he might have understood things way too late.

"Are you in love with someone?" Paul asks bluntly, lips refusing to obey him. He is absolutely lost as to what he will do in case the answer is going to be affirmative.

Richard blinks at him, now looking even more baffled.

"Well, with you, for starters." He arches an eyebrow, relocating his hand from Paul's shoulder to his cheek to pinch it ever so lightly. "Thought that, by now, you should know that much yourself."

"Then what was it about your family? It's not like you'll have to leave someone, or…?"

"I meant that, if I understood what you want correctly, they'll have to know, and lots of other people, too, not only those from the family circle."

"Well, that's the whole point of making it official, isn't it?" Paul asks, relieved beyond expression by Richard's answer.

The man hasn't even given his consent to anything yet, but knowing there is no one else but him in Richard's life is at least reassuring enough.

"Guess you could put it that way," Richard smiles, the corners of his lips lifting up just a little more.

Paul knows this smile intimately. It's not the one Richard reserves for cameras or fans or colleagues, it's the one very few people are allowed to witness, a very mild one on his lips but way more prominent in the corners of his eyes which break in crowfeet. Then he leans forward and lets his hands slide from Paul's shoulders to his back, pulling him into a proper hug, his chin coming to rest on Paul's shoulder, his cheek pressed snugly against Paul's. 

"So what exactly do you mean by making it official?" Richard asks, apparently not planning on letting him out.   
  
Paul doesn't mind it in the slightest – if they have to remain physically entangled throughout this whole conversation, it is much more likely that it will end up successfully, whatever they eventually come up with.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, I can't quite decide it solely on my own, right?" Paul mutters against the side of Richard's neck.   
  
"I wish you'd been this agreeable twenty years ago," Richard huffs, but there is no malice in his voice, only a teasing note or two.   
  
Paul doesn't take offense either – there is no sense in being offended by truth, after all.

"Better late than never," he smiles. "Hasn't taken me forever, huh?"

Richard hums contentedly as he lightly sways them both in his arms. There is a brief press of his warm lips on Paul's temple, making him close his eyes from the sheer pleasure if it, and the familiarity of the action doesn't negate its sweetness in the slightest, but quite the opposite, somehow intensifying it instead. It seems like he knows every single inch of Richard's skin by now, perhaps better than he knows his own, the way his lips and fingertips feel on his body, the very pattern of his breath and every possible shade his irises acquire in different lighting, yet even after thirty years he is still not tired of any of it, either of looking at or touching Richard or feeling his eyes and caresses on himself.  
  
"I want _this_ ," Paul says, now considerably calmer and thus way more composed as he presses his temple more snugly to Richards mouth. "A life with you. Seems like it's about time we could accomplish that. That is, if you're willing to give it a try. I didn't plan anything, _couldn't_ plan it without you. I'll leave Arielle if you agree to this madness. Not something I'm going to be proud of but…" he sighs, not liking what he will have to do but knowing it's the only way it should be, really.

Keeping on with this knot of lies will surely hurt everyone involved more the longer it goes on, and, no matter what his relationship with Richard is or will be, he doesn't really want to cause his wife more pain than he must have caused already. He's pretty certain she has figured out a lot about the true nature of his relationship with Richard even though she has never said a word to him about it in the twenty years that they have been together, maybe for their kid's sake, maybe knowing that it was pointless to raise the topic as he and Richard have always had something special going on ever since the moment they met, and that had happened long before Arielle herself appeared in his life.

"We can sort out the details together if you think I'm not totally out of my mind with such proposals," Paul says softly. "So how does it all sound to you?"  
  
Instead of a reply, he feels Richard's hands returning to their place on his shoulders as he gently but firmly beckons Paul to move back a little, which the latter does so that he could look Richard straight in the eye again. For a while, which seems endless to Paul, he silently studies him, the mixture of emotions reflected in his gaze so complex it's hard to tell whether he's surprised, delighted or scandalised. If anything, Richard's eyes are searching, and Paul thinks he can understand why – after all, he has just come up with a proposal that is bound to turn lots of aspects of their lives upside down. It will certainly affect not only the two of them but those around them, too, not to mention the fact of Rammstein itself looming over it all, which is perhaps the most complicated issue of all. It gave Paul a headache every time he tried and failed to figure it out on his own, and it will most likely cause Richard quite a pain in the neck, too.

"Hell yeah, we will have a shitload to sort out," his lover murmurs meanwhile, apparently thinking along the same lines as Paul himself, yet his eyes are still filled with that dreamy quality which so often graces his face when he is in the middle of visualising something he considers to be worth trying. "If I'd been told back in 2003, when you hissed at me every time I said that I love you, that fifteen years later you'd be suggesting moving in together for real, I'd have laughed," Richard goes on, in the same slightly detached dreamy way, and then shakes his head as if trying to return into the real world.

Then he pulls Paul back to himself, until the latter ends up with his cheek on his shoulder and arms wrapped around his waist. Richard's embrace feels gentle yet secure at the same time, the hold of someone who knows he's not letting the person he's holding in his arms go anywhere anytime soon as well as that the said person has no intentions of going anywhere.

"It's been a long while since then, huh?" Paul asks, nuzzling the side of Richard's neck as he hides his face from the damp breeze in the heat of his dearest friend's body.

"Yeah," Richard agrees. "We're both completely different people now, and even so, here we are, huh? Still loving each other."

Paul feels Richard lean his own head with his cheek pressed against the top of his head, and then a soft touch of his lips there.

"Guess we could accomplish that now if we tried," he says softly, fingers tightening their hold on Paul's shoulder. "You and me."

For a brief while, Paul feels so overwhelmed with emotion that he can barely breathe, let alone speak. Instead, he resorts to the body language and buries his face deeper underneath the collar of Richard's jacket, closer to the warmth of his body, eyes squeezed tightly shut and something in his throat making his breath wheeze past his lips.

"I need you," he says simply when he is able to somehow negotiate his breathing ability. "I'm tired of sneaking around. Of those countless women of yours, too."

"Whoa, now that's some news. You never used to be," Richard says, sounding genuinely taken aback.

"Started recently," Paul admits with a slightly flustered huff. "Thought you might plan another family affair and we'd never get a chance for us. Got me terrified, to tell you the truth. It feels like we've wasted so much time, and I realised I finally wanted you, only for myself, and there you were romancing around. So here I am before anyone else steals you from me."

Richard chuckles, the sound rich and heartfelt, but when he speaks, his voice comes as quiet and serious.

"You do know that you've never really had any competition as far as I'm concerned, be it from men or women, no matter how many there were in my life?"

Paul sighs. "I've always wished I could hope so, but I can't say I'm totally certain of that even now, constantly thinking that one day you might finally get fed up with me and find someone who doesn't get your knickers in a twist all the time."

"Paul…" Richard mutters ever so quietly and then moves back to give him a look, part-taken-aback, part-sad, almost pleading. When Paul only shrugs, somewhat helplessly, he goes on, "Is it why you're asking me about a life with you? Because you still don't quite believe me when I say that I love you more than anything?"

This time, it is Paul's turn to feel both taken aback and perhaps a little terrified. He has never given that possibility a thought, that by asking Richard to finally make a commitment he is really asking for a confirmation of his love. The question which follows in the wake of this not particularly pleasant realisation is an even less pleasant one, whether all the past hurts have really stayed in the past for him.

"No… Richard, look, that's not quite…" he starts, realises he is babbling and trails off. Perhaps because there is really nothing he could say in his defence in this case, and lying to Richard right now has every chance of ruining the moment, and with it everything which is at stake, too. "Fuck."

"It still haunts you, doesn't it?" Richard asks softly. "Haunts me, too," he exhales, taking Paul's face into both of his hands, warm thumbs brushing over Paul's cold cheeks.

When he starts to speak again, his voice sounds different, both pained and forced.

"You know, I think I've never been as terrified in my entire life as when I found you there in the dressing room back during the Family Values, barely conscious, sweating and shaking. That time between the moment when I saw you wheezing there on the floor and when the paramedics arrived at last… I was scared out of my mind that you'd done something stupid and might die right there and then before they even had a chance to come and help you. I'd have done anything to save you, but there was absolutely nothing I could do but watch them fuss over you with their needles and stuff. I know now that it didn't really threaten your life, but hell, I didn't know it then…" Richard sighs. "I realised then that I needed you, couldn't live or breathe without you, didn't need any fucking one the way I needed you. And I still need you as much. I didn't manage to give you up then, I wouldn't be able to do it now, nor do I want to. I'm not willing to sacrifice _us_ for anything, not even for Rammstein if it comes to that. You are one true love of my life, and the sole reason why there might be someone in my bed is that you aren't always there, Paul."

When Richard falls silent at the end of this considerable speech, Paul is feeling as if he had just been unravelled and then assembled back together, bit by bit, cell by cell, but with some slight alterations in the order of things. He is still his old self, still loving Richard and wanting to be with him, but suddenly with an utterly new insight into what kind of hell his long-time partner and friend must have gone through all those years ago. Reluctantly, he tries to imagine what it would have felt like to be in Richard's shoes back then, and recoils from the thought, not willing to even begin to understand the devastation which losing someone you love could evoke. He thought he had lost Richard many times over the course of their long turbulent relationship, but this seems to constitute a whole new level of unbearable.

"I'm sorry for that," Paul whispers and rubs at Richard's arm, not quite sure what exactly he apologises for, that incident or perhaps his inability to comprehend what it put Richard through for years on end.

Richard only hugs him tighter to himself.

"Thought we'd never be able to become what we used to be before recording Mutter. Then thought you'd never allow me to talk about love again, let alone actually love you. Then thought we'd never manage to end up together, no matter if we wanted it or not. Not with your family in the way and then my own, too. Thought you'd never agree to leave them, not for me anyway," Richard says quietly, sounding both a little sad and a little awed. "Yet here we are."

"Here we are," Paul echoes and kisses Richard's coarse cheek. "The only thing which bothers me is that we'll end up repeating the same mistake and fuck it all up again. I know it's completely different now, but…" He shrugs, sighs and then goes on. "Still want to give it a try, though."

What happened to them back at the end of the nineties, when their incredibly close relationship went to hell in a handbasket over a matter of a few weeks, spiralling out of control like a runaway train with busted up brakes, still remains some kind of psychological trauma for Paul, no matter how hard he has tried to sort it out with himself and with Richard, and so it is for Richard, he's pretty sure. He's been burnt once, he doesn't want it again, and losing _this_ , losing this intimacy and trust they have managed to achieve over the past ten years or so, would be the end of him, he's quite certain of that much.

"We'll make it this time," Richard whispers against Paul's temple, voice still hushed but wonderfully adamant. "And we'll make it right. Just have to agree on what exactly _official_ implies. You haven't spoken to Arielle about it yet, have you?"

"Nope," Paul sighs. "I think she suspects a lot, but suspecting is one thing and knowing is different. Will have to try and make it right with her, god knows, she's been too good for me. Lily knows nothing, though, and she will have to be told before we end up together, too. That's what worries me most. I'm just glad she's old enough now and we won't have to go through the custody hell at least."

Richard hums sympathetically and strokes Paul's shoulder because that he can certainly relate to, having been in those shoes more than once.

"If she kicks you out, you know where to go to," he says simply, and the offer, disarming in its simplicity, seems to go straight to Paul's heart.

They stand like that for a while, as minutes tick by bringing midnight closer, without saying anything else. Such talks had better be carried out in the light of day, and nights should really be spent in a different fashion. Which reminds Paul that he promised his wife to be home by midnight. At the moment, it seems to him as if he had talked to her in some other life, though, a life which is so awfully distant from this cosy bubble of comfort he's enveloped into right now that he isn't certain as to how in the world he is going to return there tonight. Paul's cheek is resting on Richard's shoulder, arms wrapped around his rather soft middle, and he doesn't feel like moving a single limb of his body, let alone go anywhere. It has always been nice to hold on to that ample figure of his but now, with those curves more rounded and prominent, it seems to be successfully shutting down all coherent thought in Paul's head, leaving him yearning for this physical closeness with renewed force. It's further intensified by the necessity of returning back home and then breaking the news to Arielle, which, combined, make him cling to Richard's sides even more desperately, wishing he could just stay here in his arms, wrapped into love and warmth, and never face any hurdles ever again.

"I don't wanna leave," Paul murmurs with a sigh which comes out way too shaky.

He's surprised by his own reaction – after all, it's not like they are going to part for long. Hell, it's been years since the moment he and Richard had to say goodbye and head for different continents instead of different houses. Now, with them living within walking distance from each other, it has never been an issue to meet and satisfy whatever itch needed scratching, be it sex, conversation or making music. Spending a night together has been a bit trickier, but ultimately not a problem, either. Now, though, simply taking his arms off Richard, let alone stepping away from him and leaving, seems nigh on physically impossible. It is as if having been given the taste of what it might be like if they end up together, Paul simply cannot help himself, craving more of it, unwilling to waste another moment which could instead be spent in Richard's arms.

"Do you have to?" Richard asks quietly.

He turns his head until his lips brush over Paul's cheekbone, caressing it with another warm kiss. He doesn't sound particularly fascinated by such prospects, either, and it only makes Paul's compulsive desire to never let go even more desperate. It's not even that he absolutely has to come home tonight – he's sure that if he calls Arielle and tells her he is staying the night at Richard's, there won't be much trouble, if any at all, but for some reason he feels that if he spends this particular night in Richard's home, in Richard's arms, actually discussing prospects of living together with him, he will never come back at all. Might as well ask his wife to pack his bloody bag and send it off here by post. She certainly doesn't deserve to be treated like this, but…

Wrapping his arms tighter around Richard's middle and pressing his lips to the side of his neck, Paul shakes his head.

"No, I don’t think so," he sighs. "Not anymore."

"Then stay with me, Paul?" Richard asks simply. "Tonight and tomorrow and… always."

Paul screws up his eyes, shivering either from the ubiquitous damp chill that is creeping under his clothes or from the sheer enormity of what he has just committed himself to, and hugs Richard even closer, if closer is at all possible. _This is it_ , he thinks, the point of no fucking return. Something tells him that even if he absolutely _had_ to be home tonight, he would stay here anyway. Somehow, this feeling reminds him of what he experienced back on that first night he and Richard spent together, so many years ago, as if being led on by some irresistible fate, unable to do anything but obey and follow, come hell or high water.

With an effort of will, Paul has to move back a little so that he could look at Richard properly. He takes his lover's face in his hands and draws it closer, their foreheads touching, noses brushing against each other and lips but a mere half an inch apart.

"I love you," he murmurs and nods in response to what Richard has asked of him.

He feels Richard nod, too, not really waiting for a return confession – he's well aware of the fact of his love, and he also suspects he is perhaps way too overwhelmed by what is happening right now to talk. The thought makes him helplessly draw Richard into his arms again, holding him in his arms and squeezing him so tight as if his life depended on it. But then again, come to think of it, now it does, doesn't it?

"No, I don't think I will let you go anywhere tonight," Richard mutters after a while. "Too late for that; even if you tried to escape, I'd be willing to put padlocks on all doors just to keep you here."

"Go on," Paul chuckles, unable to contain a grin, "this way I'd probably be spared the necessity to talk to Arielle and explain why I'm not home tonight, tomorrow and always."

" _This_ may well be your home, Paul," Richard says softly.

"'tis wherever _you_ are," Paul replies, realising he's never said anything which is truer than this to anyone.

It's almost scary how easy it seems, almost as easy as it was to ignore all possible reservations and fears he had when he gave himself over to Richard and fell in love with him thirty long years ago.

**Author's Note:**

> Was inspired by the events of the previous insane tour. They did look like guitar husbands so my imagination just took some liberty and this happened.  
> Occurring sometime during the autumn of '18.
> 
> *'But Not Tonight' by Depeche Mode


End file.
